A Shade Beneath the Obvious
by Kassia
Summary: Takes place after 'Something Like Closure.' Bobby finds out that something is very wrong with Lydia.


Disclaimer: X-Men are Marvel's. I'm not making any money off this. Lydia is mine, as is the story. Please ask before archiving. 

This is third in the series, and takes places after 'A Talent for Reality' and 'Something Like Closure' (which I recommend reading first). This was almost a story with an actual plot, with a villain and dream sequences and everything, but then I realized that if I _ever_ wanted to finish a third Lydia story, I'd have to get rid of the complex plot. And- go figure- the moment I forgot the plot, I finished the story in one day. I just hope the fact that it only took me a day to write doesn't show up _too _much. ;) 

And this doesn't fit into continuity at all. It never has, and never will. So there. 

Feedback can be sent to kassia06@yahoo.com. Everything except flames will be _greatly_ appreciated. 

Hope you enjoy it!   


**A Shade Beneath the Obvious**

He knocked on the Danger Room door before entering. It was a habit that got him a lot of funny looks, but Bobby was used to getting funny looks. He entered then and, by way of greeting, exclaimed, "I'm baaa-aack!" 

The words, done in a style which very closely resembled the 'Poltergeist' catch-phrase, bounced around the Danger Room a couple of times before being returned to the sender, unheard or unacknowledged. Chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, hands stuffed in his pockets, Bobby wandered towards the corner which was occupied currently by a couch, a large armchair, a TV and VCR, a stereo, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a bunch of bright red potted flowers. In fact, everything was there except the woman who owned all that junk. 

"Lydia?" he tried again. "Miss Hawk?" 

Again, no answer. 

He flopped down on her couch and gazed around the living corner thoughtfully. While the Christmas tree had been hauled out a while ago, there was still tinsel everywhere. It had been a beautiful tree. If there was one thing Bobby knew how to do, it was decorate a Christmas tree. None of that mono-chromatic crap, no fake snow, and lots of lights, shiny breakable ornaments, and tinsel. Of course Lydia's stupid cat kept throwing up the tinsel, but that was a small price to pay for such supreme beauty. 

But Christmas had been months ago. They had been called away on a long, drawn-out mission, and it had been months since Bobby had been in here. He wasn't worried that she was gone; Lydia would always be there. It was just that he had been rather hoping for a warmer welcome. Or any welcome, for that matter. 

As if in answer to this thought, an imperative meow came from somewhere around his feet. "Hey Velli," said Bobby cheerfully, picking up the plump, furry creature. He wasn't quite sure how the cat had ended up with that name. He just knew that he and Lydia were still debating whether to call it Fuzzy Grub or Anathema when someone- likely Hank- had dubbed it Machiavelli and that had been the end of it. 

"What makes you think," said an imperative voice from somewhere behind him, "that you can leave for months, and then just waltz back in here and act like you own the place?" 

Bobby leaned his head back and grinned at the indignant blonde. "Hey, Lydia. Miss me?" 

An unguarded smile flitted across her face. "Very much." She walked over and sat down beside him on the couch, coaxing the cat away from him as she said, "Not that I didn't have lots of fun with the remaining X-Men. I felt like I really got to know them. Did you know that Bishop can name all the My Little Ponies right off the top of his head?" 

Bobby blinked. "My God. Really?" 

"No, not really," admitted Lydia, "but that would be pretty damn funny. Almost as funny as when we had Wolverine fighting the Smurfs." 

Bobby smiled reminiscently. "Yeah. But Scott said if we ever messed with the Danger Room settings again, he'd have our heads- even if it meant having Jean transfer you to an actual body just _so _he could rip your head off." 

"Ha! Summers wasn't angry- he was laughing, I know it." 

"_And_," continued Bobby, "more importantly, Logan said that next time we pulled a stunt like that, if Scott wanted our heads he'd have to find all the pieces of 'em first. Logan likes jokes, but not when they're played on him."   
  
Lydia began to smile, but it turned into a grimace as she doubled over, clutching her stomach. Bobby, alarmed and not sure what to do, said, "What is it? You okay?" 

"Yeah, I just... need to lie down." Bobby got to his feet as she lay down on the couch, curled up, her face contorted with pain. 

"Um, you need anything?" he asked anxiously, and then, belatedly, "but I don't see how lying down would help. Shouldn't you blink out or something?" 

"I dunno." She took a deep breath, and sat back up, her face normal again. "Sorry 'bout that. It happens every now and then, since you left. They go away. It's annoying as hell, but I don't suppose anyone can live in this mansion without having to suffer in _some _way. Friggin' place is jinxed," she added under her breath. 

"Do you think maybe you should have someone look into it? Like..." 

"Hank?" she scoffed. "I think he kind of specializes in the living." 

"Actually, I was gonna say Jean." 

"Oh. No, that's all right." She reached for the cigarettes on the table beside the couch. "I'm fine, now, really." 

"Lydia..." 

"Oh, give me a _break_. What can happen to me after all? I'm already dead." 

"No, it's not that..." 

"For the love of God, don't start, Drake. You know I can't stand all your over-blown concern and exaggeration and..." 

"Lydia," he hissed, cutting her off, "you're _blinking_." 

"I'm... I'm what?" She looked down at herself, and her eyes widened. She was blinking in and out, like a broken hologram. "Oh. Damn," she said faintly. 

"I'll get Jean," growled Bobby. 

"Yes, please," Lydia replied meekly. 

*** 

Bobby stared glumly at his plate. "Nothing makes me glad to be home like TV dinners."

Hank looked unsympathetic. "Shut up and eat the strange gelatinous substance, Bobby, or you don't get dessert."

Scott prodded the goop with his fork. "I think the strange gelatinous substance _is_ dessert."

"So what I said is still true. My apologies about dinner, but the oven broke. If it hadn't, we'd be having lasagna."

"Guess we should count our blessings, then."

The X-Men were gathered around the dinner table. At least the originals were, though minus their original token female, plus Rogue and Storm and Bishop. Everyone else was out God-and-Xavier-knows-where. 

Well, except Jean and Betsy. Bobby knew exactly where Jean and Betsy were. They were in the Danger Room. They had been there for hours, trying to figure out what was wrong with Lydia. And to think he had been looking forward to coming home. 

"You know," said Warren, as if reading his mind, "you really don't need to worry. I mean, she's already dead, right?" 

"That's what _she_ said," sighed Bobby. 

A silence fell over the table, broken by a request from Xavier that Hank go dig some leftovers out of the refrigerator and heat them up. Xavier's mild suggestion had Hank up and out of the room faster than the other X-Mens' complaints. Charles was patient with a lot of things, but really bad food wasn't one of them. 

Jean poked her head in at that point. "Bobby, we need to talk to you." 

Bobby's heart and stomach traded places. "Coming," he said, and excused himself. No one suggested he finish dinner first. 

*** 

Lydia felt like she had a piercing headache, except it wasn't just in her head. It was all over her body. She wished she could blink out, but Braddock wouldn't let her. 

"If you weren't inside Cerebro, you would have faded out long before this," Braddock was explaining. "But even a supercomputer can't replace a real brain and body." 

"Well, of course not," said Lydia. 

"If you were willing to feed off other entities on the astral plane," the purple-haired woman mused, "you'd probably last longer. It would increase your strength considerably." 

"As one of your former X-persons would've said, _ew, gross_! There is no way am I feeding off other 'entities'," said Lydia. 

"I didn't think you would." 

Lydia rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around her knees, while Braddock pondered the situation. Damn them, there were three telepaths in this mansion alone. Together, they'd have to be able to come up with something... right? Lydia didn't relish the idea of disappearing into oblivion. 

The door wooshed open, and in came Jean, followed by Drake. "I've explained everything to him," said Jean. Drake's expression testified to the truth of that statement. 

Lydia hailed him and said curiously, "Drake, if I die a second time does that make me an honorary X-Man? If it does, I want my codename to be Believably-Proportioned Girl." 

Distracted momentarily, Drake's eyes darted up and down her figure briefly. "Like hell you're believably proportioned." 

"It's all relative," said Lydia. "I'm a lot shorter than Braddock, yet her waist could fit twice into mine." 

"A _slight _exaggeration," murmured Braddock. 

"You know," mused Drake, "if you want to be thinner, couldn't you just make yourself appear that way?" 

"Why would I do that?" said Lydia, with a toss of her hair. "Staying _really_ thin takes much too much effort." Drake's brows furrowed as he puzzled over this misinterpretation of his statement. 

"To be honest, it's a good thing you didn't try to manipulate your appearance, Lydia," said Jean. "If you had been using your energies to that direction, I don't think you would've lasted even this long." 

Jean's comment brought them back to the point of this meeting. Drake's expression became worried again. "Yeah, so, um," he stuttered. 

"Yes?" said Lydia sweetly, batting her eyelashes. 

"How long do you have?"   
  
His worry was disarmingly sincere. Then again, Lydia always found sincerity disarming. She shrugged, and turned to the two telepaths. 

"Three weeks maybe?" Jean said to Betsy. 

"Two," replied Betsy. "If you want to be optimistic." 

"A week," said Lydia to Drake 

"Oh," said Drake in small voice. He looked positively depressed. Flattering, but it wouldn't do at all. 

"Don't worry. I've died before. It's not so bad. I mean, the dying part hurts, but the part after is easy." That was a lie, actually. It hadn't been easy at all. For some reason her consciousness had been transferred to the astral plane- that was actually what had killed her body- and she had been slowly fading, starving to death, until she had stumbled across Cerebro. Now it would be that fading, starving thing all over again. She _really _didn't want to go through that again. She had a very low threshold for pain. 

"Huh," said Drake, looking unconvinced. Then his eyes brightened. "What if you were in Jean's body? Would you be able to stay, uh, alive?" 

Jean shook her head, and his face fell again. "It would be the same as in Cerebro. It's not her brain or body. Quite frankly, she's not powerful enough to maintain herself." 

"Oh, to be a ridiculously powerful mutant," sighed Lydia. That had never been one of her desires before. She looked at the three solemn faces, and decided she couldn't stand much more of this. "Can I blink out now? I need to conserve my energy, you know." 

"Of course," said Jean. Not that it would've made a difference if they had said she couldn't. There was only so many things a dying person could put up with, and three serious, concerned X-Men wasn't one of those things.   
  
*** 

There was a faint glow of a setting sun, but of course you couldn't see the sunsets on the forest path. Not that she felt like admiring a sunset, Betsy reflected. She had too much to think about. 

Well, only one thing, really, but that was one thing too much. The problem was Warren. He had never liked the Hawk girl, which made perfect sense, as she wasn't a particularly likable person. That was why Warren found Bobby's sadness so incomprehensible. He already hated seeing his friends sad, and it positively tore him up to see them sad over something he didn't think they should be sad over. 

There were a few approaches to this problem, but it seemed the most people would be benefited from starting at the root of it, namely, Lydia. If there was just a way to stop her from fading out, everything else would fall into place. 

But... there didn't seem to be anything that could be done. Not without severely damaging someone, at least, probably an innocent bystander. Innocent bystanders could be so tiresome. 

She and Jean _had _discussed the possibility of making Lydia more powerful, but they might as well try to make themselves more powerful. It wasn't an option, not without totally rearranging the astral plane. Lydia wasn't clay, and they couldn't just add on whatever they felt like and knead it into one perfect shape. 

She sensed someone nearby. Bobby. She glanced around, then up. Most people didn't bother with up, but the X-Men always did. Sure enough, there was Bobby, perched in a tree. 

"Hey, Bets." He waved a scraped-up hand in greeting. 

"You know, Bobby, you could've just made an iceslide to get up there, thus saving yourself a lot of skin and blood." 

He grinned. He looked twelve, when he grinned. Sixteen when he was looking sulky. Almost twenty when he was serious. "But where's the fun in that?" 

"And you could ice away the wounds, too," she added pragmatically. 

He didn't argue with that one, but he didn't ice up his hands to get rid of the scrapes, either. "What brings you out to this neck of the woods, Bets?" 

"I just thought I'd go on a walk," she shrugged. She was inclined to think Bobby had the better idea, though. The trees around the mansion were wonderful trees- trees were one of the few things that grew more strong and beautiful with age. They were just begging to be climbed, in fact. "But I've changed my mind. I believe I will join you." 

Bobby didn't look too enthralled by the idea, but he was too polite to say so. "My tree is your tree, milady." He bowed awkwardly from the waist. 

It didn't take her long to get up. Being tall and extremely agile had their uses, and tree-climbing was certainly one of them. Bobby scooted down to make room for her on his particularly strong branch. 

"Too bad this isn't an apple tree," sighed Betsy. 

"Yeah. The experience isn't quite the same without apples." He swung his feet back and forth. Betsy waited for him to ask the question that she knew was bothering him. 

Finally he said, "Have you thought of anything that could help Lydia?" 

"Not yet," she admitted. "But we're working on it." _Kind of, sort of, occasionally._ It had been a few days. You think they could at least have come up with a feasible _idea _in a few days. 

"Oh." 

"I know there is _something _I'm missing," she said angrily. Not that she felt a particular need to save Lydia on a personal level, but a problem had been given her and it was too aggravating not to be able to solve it. Anyway, Bobby, for all his faults, was a sweet guy, and she had no desire to see him grieving over the loss of a friend. 

Lydia was the root of the problem, and nothing could be done with Lydia. How much farther could you go than that? What lay beneath the root of a problem? 

"I think I'll go see if Lydia wants to watch a movie or something," said Bobby. He swung down to the ground, and added, "If it doesn't hurt her too much." 

*** 

Drake had been coming around a lot more often. Sometimes Lydia wasn't up to appearing, and he'd either go away or watch a movie. She liked it when he did that. It was comforting. Even when he watched really bad movies. 

She knew she owed him something, and the debt grew larger with every visit he made. Some debts couldn't be repaid, though. All she could give him was gratitude. 

_And you've been doing a great job with that_, said a sarcastic voice in her head. Okay, so she had never been particularly good at showing Drake she was thankful. But he knew she was, right? 

Meanwhile, Jean and Braddock and even Xavier were all devoting plenty of thought to her problem. She was grateful to them, too, but felt no particular inclination to let them know that. They were doing what they had to do, after all, and would've done the same for any poor disintegrating soul they encountered. That sounded ungrateful, sure, but that was the truth. 

Anyway, it didn't look like they'd figure anything out in time. She'd probably be gone by the end of the week. She wondered briefly if there was an afterlife for souls, instead of just minds. Was there a heaven and hell? Lydia briefly reviewed what she had done in this life, and what she knew about her life before that, and came to a decision. 

_I sincerely hope not._

_***_

"Ya know, if it hurts too much, you don't have to try to appear," said Bobby anxiously. 

"It's _okay_, Drake," said Lydia, with a slight smile. 

"Sorry, I know me worrying bugs you..." _Stop apologizing, you idiot_. "Anyway, I hope you don't mind me being here." 

"Drake," she replied, "you could gut my cat and hang it on the Christmas tree, and I still wouldn't mind you." 

Bobby gave her a wide-eyed look. "What a... disgusting image." And a lovely sentiment. _Yeah, I'd gut a cat for you any day_.   
Well, _that _comment left no more room for apologies. "You know, Jean said they're going to have Emma Frost come over to help them find a, uh, cure for you." 

"Oooh," breathed Lydia. "_The _Emma Frost?" 

"Are you mocking me?" 

"Is it necessary?" 

"Apparently not," sighed Bobby. 

"Tell ya what," said Lydia, "you go spiff yourself up in preparation for the arrival of Emma the Great, and _I _will blink out before I explode from the pain." 

"Lydia! You said you were okay!" 

"I said the truth. Considering I'm slowly disintegrating, I am okay." Lydia rolled her eyes briefly, and, with a snap of her fingers no doubt added just for effect, disappeared. 

*** 

Dinner was relatively quiet. Again. Bobby wished they would all chat cheerfully, but it didn't look like that wish was going to come true. Lots of his wishes wouldn't come true. The stars weren't helping either. Damn Jiminy Cricket for raising false hopes. 

Warren, seated at Bobby's side, took advantage of a moment when no one was really paying attention to Bobby, to say sympathetically, "It could be a lot worse, Bobby." Well, Warren's idea of sympathy, anyway. 

"How?" said Bobby through clenched teeth. "How could it be worse? Warren, Lydia's _dying._" 

"Bobby, she's dead already!" Warren snapped back. "It's not like Hank is dying, or Rogue. The girl's already dead, and she's stuck in the Danger Room, anyway. It's not like death will be that big of a step down." 

Bobby could feel his face going red. He could think of a few things to reply to that, but none were suitably _hurtful. _Instead he stood up abruptly and stalked out of the room. Let Warren deal with the angry and confused looks the other X-Men would no doubt give him. 

He stalked all the way to the Danger Room, where he knocked sharply on the door before storming in.   
  
Lydia appeared immediately, a strange thing for her to do. "What? What happened?" her voice was rather amused. Of course, he was an idiot to go to Lydia when he was angry at someone. She found other's anger amusing. 

He launched into his tirade nonetheless. "Warren happened. He keeps telling me that you dying isn't a big deal, since you've already died before. What's his problem? That's like saying it wouldn't be a big deal if Jean died, and she's been dead plenty of times!" 

Lydia's amused expression didn't change at all. "He's trying to protect you, Drake. Can't you see that? Sure, it's in an inept sorta way, but he's very protective of his friends. He's trying to make... everything... less painful for you. Yeah, he isn't thinking of _my _painat all, but I never think of his either, so we're even." 

"Yeah, well, he... hmph." 

"My thoughts exactly. I know Worthington can be a first-class son of a bitch sometimes, and I know that he can be amazingly gullible," she grinned briefly, and Bobby was pretty sure he knew what memory she was grinning at, "but, beneath that, he is _trying_." 

Bobby took a deep breath. "Lydia?" 

"Yes?" 

"Never, _ever _become a defense attorney." 

Lydia grinned, but then the grin faded immediately. "That was never really an option, anyway." She sighed. "You know, Bobby, I _am _going to die." 

"You don't have... there's still a chance... I mean..." 

"One of the things I love about you is how articulate you are. But, no, there's not really a chance at all. Don't worry- I don't mind dying. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to going out with a bang." 

He tried to match her light tone. "All the more reason for you to live. I think we can do without anymore bangs, thank you." 

She smiled her unreadable half-smile. "Don't deny me this last thing, Drake. All I want to do is leave behind a legacy of chaos." 

"That's great," said Bobby. "Chaos. It'll be just like you're still with us." 

"That's the idea," she replied. Suddenly she looked uncomfortable. "Bobby?" 

"What?" 

"I just want to say, well, uh..." She looked down at her feet. Bobby bit back a comment about how articulate _she _was. Like Warren, Lydia _was_ trying beneath all the bitchiness. Bobby wouldn't ever be stupid enough to tell her he realized that, though. She continued in a rush, "Thanks for everything. You've been really nice to me, and I really appreciate it. I just wanted you to know that." 

_Wow. She really must be dying. _"You're welcome. My pleasure, actually." He blinked rapidly, and added, "I'll miss you." 

"You'd better," said Lydia. 

*** 

She was growing soft in her last days. She had thought nice things of Worthington and said nice things to Drake. She had nearly burst into tears when Hank had come by, asked her if she was bored, and- of all things- offered to read the unfinished novel that sat beside the couch to her. Rogue was taking care of Machiavelli for her. Even Summers asked her how she was feeling occasionally. Damn them all, did they have to be so nice? 

Also, she still didn't have any idea how she going to live up to her promises of going out with a bang. She had said she would because it had sounded like a good idea at the time, but she had _no_ idea what the hell she would to. 

_How about living? That'd be a really great finish, don't you think?_

_Shut up, me. You're not helping any._

She really hoped she'd die soon, if only so she could be put out of all her X-style sappy angsty misery. Then again, there was probably some rule in the X-Mansion that you couldn't die unless it was to save someone from a psycho villain. 

_Bah. X-Men._

She'd really miss them. 

*** 

Lydia Hawk was ostentatiously resigned to the fact that she was going to die again, and somewhere beneath the denial, Betsy knew that Bobby was beginning to become a bit resigned. Elisabeth Braddock felt a little insulted by the lack of faith, but it wasn't as if she or Jean or Charles had done anything yet that would merit faith. It was doubtful that Emma, arriving tomorrow, would have anything to contribute either. Lydia was almost gone and they'd come up with nothing. Shortly, she wouldn't even be able to appear anymore. Bloody hell. If the girl died, it would take forever for Warren and Bobby to make up, if they ever did. 

That sounded very self-serving, didn't it? No, Warren-serving, and that wasn't quite as selfish. Even if it was selfish, there was no reason she couldn't at least be honest about her real motives inside her head. _Let me be true to myself, if to no one else._

She had looked at the problem from all sides, and nothing could be done. Jean and Xavier had reluctantly reached the same conclusion. 

Next to her, Warren stirred uneasily in his sleep. 

No, you could never really look at a problem from all sides, because you were only one person. There was another side to it. She was looking at it from a telepath's point of view. There were other extremely intelligent people who might approach the problem from a different side. How would, say, Henry address the problem as a doctor? Or how would computer nerd Kitty approach it? 

Betsy's eyes widened. She hopped out of bed, and, grabbing a bathrobe, sent a telepathic wake up call to Jean. 

_What is it, Betsy? _Jean's tired mind replied.   
  
_I've got an idea_, Betsy thought back. 

_What's beneath the root? _Betsy thought irritably to herself. _The bloody flowerpot, that's what._

*** 

It had rained lightly during the night, but it was sunny again now. The weather really didn't fit Bobby's mood, but it never did. 

Every morning, for the past week, Bobby had woken up wondering if Lydia was dead yet. It was no way to live, but he had always known that that phase would end, one way or another. That had been a reassurance to him for some bizzarre reason. Hank was a reassurance for more obvious reasons. He was always there, and would be there for awhile yet. Lydia was a friend; she would be missed. But Hank, Hank was a lifeline. A blue, furry lifeline. 

He plodded down the hall to the Danger Room, when he encountered Betsy. She looked exhauasted, and surprised to see him. "Good morning, Bobby." 

"Hi." 

"Off to the Danger Room? You'd better not go in there." 

_Not already... _Bobby gulped. "Why... why not?" 

"Well, Jean's still cleaning up, and I doubt she'd appreciate the interruption. And Lydia... well, she's still getting used to the changes. Come back in a couple of hours, why don't you?" 

Bobby rubbed his temples, then his eyes, and said carefully, "Exactly what happened?" 

"Hmmm? We just gave Cerebro a good ol' fashioned telepathic boost. Which sounds a lot easier than it was, let me assure you. I doubt the Professor's telepathic abilities will ever be quite the same. Oh, don't look so shocked- you know, he still is the most powerful telepath on the planet. Or whatever he was. Now, would you excuse me?" Betsy yawned. "It's been a long night." 

"Oh, of course. Go ahead," said Bobby absently, digesting all the new information. 

Instead of walking away, though, Betsy added, "You won't hold anything Warren said against him, will you?" 

"I wasn't planning on it, no," he replied. 

Betsy nodded briefly to him, and turned to go away. Bobby stood there a moment longer, before running after her, catching up her hand and kissing it. It seemed a suitably humble gesture. "Thank you." 

"All in a night's work," she said, a bemused smile playing on her lips. "Now _please _let me go to bed. And you'd better kiss Jean's and Xavier's hands too, if you're going to be fair about all this." 

*** 

"So I came all the way down here for nothing?" said Emma irritably. She had arrived only in time to see the night's work finished. 

"No, no," soothed Jean. "There's so much surplus telepathic energy floating around here, I need help rounding it all up." 

"I like the surplus telepathic energy," said Lydia dreamily. "I feel like I'm high on something." 

"You act like you're high on something, too," Emma said dryly. 

It was a good thing that Lydia wasn't more awake, thought Jean. While Emma would certainly best Lydia in a test of wits, Lydia's sheer obnoxiousness would have made the battle quite a tense one. 

"We used a lot more energy than we needed to," continued Jean, "but it seemed the only way to ensure that Betsy's idea would work." 

"Betsy's idea? Good for her." Emma looked thoughtful. "It seems a waste to let such a beautiful example of mind over computer end so sloppily. Surely we can bring this to a suitably graceful finish?" 

"That's what I was hoping. Emma, considering you're a businesswoman, there seems to be a lot of _artiste _in you." 

"I'm no artist," denied Emma. "I'm a perfectionist with a well-developed of appreciation for aesthetics. Aesthetics demand that the grand finally outdo the rest of the show." 

The door opened, and Warren stomped into the Danger Room. "Betsy told me... so, she's going to be okay?" 

Lydia giggled drunkenly. "I'm fine, Worthington. Sorry." 

Warren glared at her. Jean knew he was relieved that Lydia wasn't going to die, but the relief certainly didn't show. "Bobby's a good friend of mine," he growled, "but he has the _worst _taste in women." 

If Emma was going to say anything to this, she didn't get a chance. Lydia grinned evilly. "What? You actually think he's interested in _women_?" 

Emma's eyes lit up in amusement, and Warren's mouth dropped open. It took him only a moment to recover though. "Glad to see you're better, Miss Hawk," he said stiffly. 

"_So _much better," sighed Lydia. "I've never felt so solid. Except for when I was alive. But I can't remember that." 

Jean looked away from Warren's studiously bland features and over to Emma. The White Queen was standing in the exact same position, but Jean saw that the light had turned into something besides amusement. 

"Ooooh," said Emma. "I have an idea." 

"Everyone seems to be getting ideas except me," Jean sighed. "Well, what is it?" 

*** 

It was still morning and he had already had breakfast, but Bobby figured he might as well have a fudgecicle to celebrate. Lydia was okay, and all was right with the world until the mansion was blown up again. He opened the freezer to get the fudgecicle out, pausing to let the cold air hit his face. 

"Hey, Drake," said Lydia, entering the kitchen. "Get one for me, too." 

"Sure," he replied, pulling out a second fudgecicle- and promptly dropping it. "Lydia!?!" 

"You know, just because you X-Men are exempt from the laws of physics doesn't mean you're exempt from the rules of   
etiquette. Don't stare, Drake, it's rude." 

"Lydia, you're- you've got-" 

"Style?" she suggested. "Panache? Charm? Wit?" 

"You've got a _body_." 

She sniffed. "Is that all you ever think about?" 

He stepped towards her cautiously, and she held out her hands for inspection, smiling her half-smile. "I'm all there. Solid as- well, something." Her eyes practically popped out of her sockets as he hugged her. 

Bobby let her go at last. Lydia wasn't a hug person, and it seemed unfair to torture her for too long. "How'd it happen?" 

She pressed her lips together, and shrugged. "Frost and Jean thought that maybe the extra telepathic and telikinetic energy could give me a body solid enough to last for awhile out of the Danger Room. Turns out they were right. Remind me to thank Xavier for all that energy one of these days, okay?" 

Still holding her hand, he looked at her searchingly, meeting her eyes. Maybe they'd betray an emotion besides amusement,   
anger, or indifference for once. "So it's temporary?" 

They did- but it wasn't what he had expected. She looked positively happy. "Yeah. But Frost thinks it should last me a few weeks." 

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned. "In that case, Lydia, m'girl, we have no time to lose. Where to first?" 

She mirrored his usual grin with her patented half-smile. "Somewhere with a lot of good food."   
  
Of course, a lot of good food couldn't be found at the mansion, so they had to drive into town. As they walked to the garage, Bobby said, "By the way, what _were _you planning to do before you died?" 

Lydia tossed her hair. "None of your business, Drake." 

Bobby was forced to be content with that. 

The red convertible was the car of choice. It was, of course, neither Lydia's nor Bobby's, but as Lydia pointed out, no matter how much of a loser he may be, Bobby was still a mutant outlaw and it was time he started driving in a vehicle worthy of one. Not that Bobby needed persuasion. 

"Here, let me drive..." 

"No, I want to," he said, clutching the wheel possesively.   
  
"Drake! It's not exactly something I can do everyday." 

Forced to cede the logic of this, Bobby got out of the car and let Lydia slide over into driver's seat. "Hop in." He was barely in   
when she pulled out and, with a sharp turn made so quickly he was sure his stomach jumped into some area around his neck, she steered the convertible wildly down the drive. Bobby grabbed wildly for his seat belt. 

Once they were out onto the road, she glanced sideways at him. "I flunked my driver's test three times, you know. Oh, don't look so panicked. Jean taught me how to drive on our trip, so she could get some rest occasionally." 

"For God's sake, look at the road!" he said through clenched teeth, adding, "Somehow, I don't think this is exactly how Jean   
drives." 

"It is when the nearest X-Man is a hundred miles away," said Lydia with a smirk, speeding up. Bobby clutched the side of the car, which seemed to be going fast enough to compete with the Blackbird in a race. 

It was going to be one hell of a day. 


End file.
